The Apostate
by LeHabitant
Summary: The Apostate, written by Matt E Monast, is a short story following a young Dalish Elf by the name of, Varhel. It takes place during the early days of the fifth Blight, before Duncan himself came upon Darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds. After leaving his clan, Varhel must locate his once banned mother, after discovering he has the abilities of a mage.


Dragon Age

The Apostate

By: Matthew E. Monast

The snaps of crackling embers from burning logs echoed throughout a forest camp. A group of Dalish Elves found comfort and safety for the night. Over twenty of them in total, many sitting in groups of threes, a couple in fours, others in two; all while one, sat alone. This loner, was Varhel, the youngest amongst his clan. Sitting with his knees up near his pointed, pale chin, Varhel stared blankly into his own, small campfire.

Earlier that afternoon, before the sun settled in the west, before wolves of the Brecilian Forest howled to the moon, Varhel discovered who he truly was as a Dalish Elf. A mage noless, one born with magical abilities within himself. Some show signs a lot sooner, while still in their early childhood. In Varhel's case, being nearly nineteen years old, this discovery has come rather delayed. Never before has he showed any signs of potential, magical abilities. This was something of great concern to the clan, and their Keeper, the leader of the group; also a mage. For many clans throughout the world of Thedas, there is only room for two mages, one being the keeper, and his or her First; an apprentice in training, next in line to become the clan's keeper.

The Keeper of this specific clan was one of the eldest Dalish in all of Thedas; although, that was unknown, even to himself. His name, Keeper Tahon. Tahon's First in waiting was his very own daughter, Nowyn, both wise and beautiful to her clan, and to her father. Possibly the most difficult part of this new discovery, for Keeper Tahon, was knowing that he would have to cast out Varhel. But even more difficult than that, was the fact that Varhel, was also Keeper Tahon's very own son.

In the early hours of the night, Nowyn approached her younger brother, stirring him from deep thought and focus, recalling the voices of fear from earlier in that day.

"Brother, come, father wishes to speak with you."

Glimpsing upward at Nowyn's staff, a thin, wooden stick, with five short branches stemming out at the top-end, a red flame magically illuminated Nowyn's and Varhel's faces. They appeared much the same, fair in skintone, young in their ageless eyes, both big and wide, green in colour. Their sharp pointed ears cut through the chilly night air. Each growing their long golden lengthy hair braided down and over toward one side, Varhel's to the left, Nowyn's to the right. Every strand was like rich gold, bright and thin, soft to the touch.

Walking together to their father's, Elven crafted tent, Varhel didn't speak a word, nor did he set an eye upon his sister. But he could feel that she was near, on his right hand side, her slender framed body and long legs stepped in sequence with his own.

"Varhel, I am sorry about what's happened today," Nowyn said. "I wish there was something I could do for you, for the both of us. I never in all our years together saw any sign. I, am sorry."

They each stopped when Nowyn grabbed her brother by an arm. He turned and faced her, starring her directly in the eyes for the first time that evening, not having seen her face since earlier that afternoon.

"That shemlin is dead, because of me," Varhel confessed. "Because I hadn't known before of the powers I possess. Because I hadn't known, that man is dead, scorched by my own untrained flames."

Sticking the bottom of her staff into the muddy, forest ground, Nowyn held her brother's face with both of her' hands; her long fingers and pointed nails cold against Varhel's skin.

"Brother, none of us have known. Have we sooner, this day could have been avoided."

"Little difference doe it makes sister," replied Varhel. "Whether today or a time long ago in the past, my fate would be similar to what it is now."

"Maybe father won't carry out with what is the custom." Nowyn said.

A look of hopelessness filled Varhel's leaf green eyes. He did not speak in reply, but lowered his head in shamefulness and despair.

"Brother, if father banishes you, know that I shall leave the clan as well."

"Don't be foolish sister!" shouted Varhel, stepping away from Nowyn, including her hands that were still upon his face, "Father would die before allowing you to exile yourself from the clan. You are his First, the next keeper of the clan, you will remain and take up that position."

A look of her own hopelessness reached Nowyn's face. "And, what of yourself?" She asked with genuine concern.

With the fire from the staff in his eyes, Varhel answered. "I will accept my fate, and take to the wilderness. This night, will be our last together, beloved sister."

Following their quick discussion, Varhel immediately began walking through the camp again, with his sister not many steps behind him. He did not stop until reaching his father's tent, who had been waiting inside, sitting before a flame from his own staff, blackened and hard, with two dragon heads snarling at the top. He could hear the footsteps of both his children coming forth, approaching the entrance way of the tent. He stood up, and faced his entering son.

There was a strange sense upon the air, a gutted feeling of truth, truth that obviously had been hidden for many long years.

"Varhel, my son. May I first apologize for what has befallen you. I cannot express how this breaks my heart," said Keeper Tahon. "Nowyn, thank you for bringing your brother here, for I could not have trusted any of the other clan members to walk at his side willingly or in glad spirits."

Neither of Tahon's children spoke a word, although, their emotions could be felt deep within his soul, even behind their current stance of silence.

"Children, sit down, so I may unburden my heart, and share with you a truth withheld from you both for many years."

"A truth father?" Asked Nowyn curiously.

Both his children looked at one another, wondering of what their father could have possibly held secret, for however many years passed.

"Varhel, when you were a youngling, not yet five years old, your first sign of magic became known to your mother and I," confessed Tahon. "In the heart of the night, a wolf crept into our camp, hungry and sore of the stomach. He tried to nip at your mother's feet, when you awakened and cast a spell out of instinct, and self-defence. Just like today, you felt un-secure, and so in self-defence your power allowed you to cast forth fire against your foe. Knowing that the clan would have demanded your exile, your mother and I agreed to keep your powers a secret, and instead of you departing at such a young age, your mother took responsibility for the spell, which all became alarmed to. Thus, she was the one who left, departing us for the hills toward the north, where until this very day, she should be waiting, waiting for you."

Both Varhel and Nowyn listened, while staring at their father in awe; awe from the secret they had never had any idea about before, nor any of the clan for that matter.

"So mother is not a mage, who left us when we were children?" Nowyn asked suddenly.

"But wasn't it dangerous having me around all these years? What if I had shown more signs of magic? Or instinct of defensive spells?" Varhel then asked angrily.

"It was a risk we were willing to take, in order to keep you safe. Your age was too young then to send you off into the wilderness alone," answered Tahon. "Through the years, you have become a fine hunter, and quite a good warrior of your own skills with a blade, all while also impressive with a bow. Your mother and I have always remained in contact with one another, secretly of course, knowing this day would inevitably come. As of the dawn approaching, she should learn of the events that took place today. She will surely be awaiting your arrival."

All these secrets coming to the surface brought many more questions to both Varhel and Nowyn, who wondered what else their father may have been keeping from them. But in all truth, there was nothing else to share with his children.

"So mother is still with us?" Varhel asked.

"No, she is not with us," replied Tahon. "She is to the north, residing alone in a cabin. I sent a message to her before the clan settled this evening. She should receive it shortly, before dawn perhaps, for that I have no doubt."

"So you mean to exile Varhel regardless?" Nowyn finally asked, sadly of course.

"Indeed, I do, for it is the custom of our people. However, Varhel will not be doomed to a fate most Dalish face when exiled from a clan," explained Tahon further. "Your mother will guide you along the path best for suited for you, but first you must journey to her; alone for the most part.

"What do you mean, for the most part?" Varhel asked.

Stepping over to a small, red chest, resting upon the ground near Tahon's bedroll, the elderly keeper retrieved a rolled up piece of bark. Breaking apart an unbroken seal, stamped by red wax, the bark was unrolled, then handed to Varhel himself. He took hold of it, gazing down upon it under the flames from both his father's and sister's staffs. He saw that he was holding a map, one made by his father, some time ago.

"Where does this lead?" Varhel thought to ask.

"Why, it leads to your mother," replied Tahon. "It shouldn't be difficult to guide you, for we have forever been moving around in circles, keeping your mother's cabin in the near centre of this map, with many trails laid out by my own hands."

Nowyn approached her brother, also gazing down upon the map. She saw the tinge of light-brown bark, with carefully labelled trails and streams, where all throughout there are tiny drawn trees, with the names of passages and places of danger also included. Its not a difficult map to read, as she points with her own finger their exact location within the western region of the Brecilian Forest.

"I have never guessed or thought about how close we were to our mother," Nowyn then mentioned. "You should be able to find her cabin within less than three days, if the forest is upon your side."

In his own deep thoughts, Varhel pondered the idea of departing the clan, forever. He felt a tear building in one eye, but quickly blinked to keep it back within. Nearly shaking his head from his thoughts, he finally spoke again. "I do not desire this to be my fate."

An immediate silence befell Keeper Tahon and his two children. All remained quiet throughout the interior walls of the tent, with nothing but a gentle wind blowing upon outside.

"I do not want to leave, even to be reunited with mother. I do not want to be exiled."

"Son, there is no other choice," stated Tahon. "You must leave tonight, and make haste for your mother's cabin, where she will guide you along your next awaited path."

Followed by another moment of despair, all while in complete silence, and tears now also streamed down Nowyn's fair cheeks.

Finally, Keeper Tahon broke through the silence. "Nowyn, I grant you permission to accompany Varhel for a day," he said, "but you must return no longer than tomorrow's dawn. Help guide your brother through the forest, and see that he is directed down the safest path to him."

There is a slight change in Nowyn's stance, as she raised herself a little taller, appearing stronger upon her feet. This was better than not accompanying her younger brother at all, leaving him to venture forth alone. If even for a day, she could tend to his side, she felt as though she must.

"I will do this father, at your bidding." Nowyn promised, gripping her staff with both hands.

"Thank you my First," replied Tahon. "I will explain to the clan that you shall return once Varhel is taken far from us, for their fear that he may stray to near us, could cause concern for the worse."

Before leaving his father's tent, to begin packing a waist-satchel, Varhel embraced Tahon with a gentle hug. He feared the days ahead, but finally found the courage to accept his fate. He was a mage, which meant he was now also an apostate to the Shemlin Chantry, a danger upon the world in the Chant of Light's beliefs.

"Be brave my son, and tell your mother how we miss her." Tahon said, as he then watched his son turn around and exit the tent.

In under an hour, Varhel and Nowyn were taking to the cover of darkness and shadow, between the high boughs of trees within the Brecilian Forest. Making their way westward for a time, until turning north. They then headed straight along a labelled trail, up a well known passage of the forest. The Brecilian Forest was indeed quite old, a far south-east woodland neighbouring the Korcari Wilds, which was further to west and south, with the capital city of Denerim in the north, completing with the Amaranthine Ocean bordering along the eastern coastline. The ancient forest possessed many secrets, few discovered, and many yet to be found. It was once a place where great battles between the elves and Tevinter Mmges were fought, with many deaths causing the veil to wear thin. That is why folk believe there to be many spirits and demonic beings within those very woodlands, all throughout the Brecilian Forest.

While Varhel and Nowyn continued making their way westward, finally coming across another trail, although not as clear or wide as the last, the morning sun began gleaming down from the sky, cutting and edging through the tops of trees, that sent golden blades of light into the forest. Besides the sun, and prior to a flame from Nowyn's staff, there was no other light to guide Varhel's path.

For the majority of that morning, an hour before midday, the brother and sister duo finally stopped to rest their legs. Thus far they hadn't encountered another living soul, that being a shemlin; or human, as used in the common tongue, nor neither spirits or other demonic forms. All appeared to be silent along the western passage that morning, until a creak in the ground erupted, sending Varhel and Nowyn sprawling to their sides, each leaping from a splitting hole in the earth. A medium sized tree became uprooted, crashing into the hole itself, before a swarm of seven foul creatures climbed out, hissing and snarling at the fresh forest air. They were rotten and stinking, their shapes massively strong, carrying oddly formed swords and axes. One carried a great battleaxe, with a thick bone as the handle. These creatures were known to the world as 'Darkspawn'; cursed beings of a more ancient time, usually dwelling and roaming deep underground, in the dwarven lands of the Deep Roads. Usually they did not appear above ground, save of course, during what is called, a blight; where leading darkspawn, an Archdemon would appear, bringing war and destruction upon all of Thedas.

"Darkspawn!" Shouted Nowyn, sprawling to her feet, readying herself for a fight.

The seven darkspawn were merely scouts, some of the first to set forth above ground since the last blight ended, many long years ago. There were three Genlocks, tainted dwarfs, twisted into foul darkspawn, three Hurlocks, once of humankind, also tainted and twisted into their darkspawn form, and lastly, one large Hurlock leader, who wielded the two handed, boned-greataxe. These darkspawn were in such a hurry to enter forth the surface that they each completely missed Varhel and Nowyn, lying upon the ground. But, Nowyn was not about to let these blighted creatures flee or escape with their lives.

"Brother, ready your bow! These scouts cannot be allowed to venture further into the woods!" Nowyn ordered, levelling her staff with a bolt of lightening energizing at the top, while her right hand billowed a ball of smoking red flame.

Varhel had never seen darkspawn before, although, he was educated about them. He stood to his feet, in awe at the size of their leader, who stepped slower behind the rest, speaking in a tongue that of which neither Varhel or Nowyn could understand.

There was a strike of lightening from Nowyn's staff, sending a chain reaction through the ground and a large set of roots where one genlock stepped. He was thrown off his feet, hitting the ground in pain. The remaining scouts became aware of Varhel and Nowyn, turning their attention now to defending themselves.

In the twisted-tongue speech of darkspawn, the hurlock leader ordered the attack, pointing his greataxe at Nowyn, who he judged as the bigger threat, for she bore a staff of magical powers.

In that moment, Varhel finally gathered himself, grabbing an arrow from out his quiver, and aiming a shot for the darkspawn leader. He released the shot, sending the arrow flying through the air, whipping through a single golden stream of light, striking the leader in the front of his right shoulder. The large hurlock stammered backward, followed up with a laugh of humour. Pulling the arrow out from his darkened flesh, he laughed again, and began walking quickly toward Varhel. At that point, Nowyn became occupied defending against the remaining five darkspawn, who attacked her with their spiked swords and bent axes, each missing, for she was light upon her feet, able to run up the trunks of trees, while casting spells behind her pace. One darkspawn had his face charred, by Nowyn's blast of flame.

In her defence, Nowyn eventually lost sight of her brother. "Varhel!" She shouted with worry.

The darkspawn leader grabbed his greataxe, after taking two more arrows; one to the right thigh, where he wore thick, leather armor, and one to the left side of his chest, where also he wore thick, leather armor. Neither of the two arrows struck deep wounds, only stinging the hurlock leader, while he laughed each time.

"What is this creature?" Vahel asked himself, right as the greataxe blade whooshed over his head. He quickly ducked down well, before jumping backward. Then while crouched down, aiming his elven bow, he released an arrow up and underneath the leader's left leg, where his groin was.

A loud groan came from the hurlock leader, before he growled and shrieked aloud, sending a call out to his fellow scouts. That is when the other darkspawn, save one who was slain, turned their focus to Varhel, and began returning to their leader. Nowyn also turned her attention that way, seeing that her brother was crouched down, only feet away from the darkspawn leader, his bow landing a close-range strike prior.

"Varhel, you carry only three arrows left, watch yourself!" She shouted.

"I could use a hand then!" Varhel replied.

Just then, in the speech of the Dalish Elves, the hurlock leader spoke. "You both are going to die today! And the world will see its fifth blight!"

"The blight is coming." Varhel couldn't help but wonder to himself.

Each remaining darkspawn came at Varhel, as he backed away from the leader, readying another arrow to shoot, striking one genlock in the forehead, killing the creature instantly. But when the leader attacked again, his massive sword caused Varhel to leap backward again in defense, where he could not ready another arrow. By then, the other four darkspawn were upon him, axes and swords held in the air. However, before they could bring their weapons down against Varhel, Nowyn intervened, sending a cold blast of wintry air through the forest, completely freezing each remaining genlock and hurlock stiff, all save their leader. She also ran forward, rolling across the ground, positioning herself in front of the frozen darkspawn, before swinging once with the bottom end of her staff, sending each genlock and hurlock's head twirling to the forest floor, smashing into a thousand pieces of ice-shards.

A loud roar came from the leader, as he stood and witnessed his fellow scouts literally lose their heads. "You will pay for your interference, Dalish slaves!" He said in the darkspawn tongue.

Behind a mighty swing, the leader began his attack once again. The arrow in his groin surely slowed him down, but his rage and last effort was difficult to match, even for a skilled mage and first class archer.

"Varhel, use your last two arrows and strike him in the hands, he won't be able to grip his axe then." Nowyn said in the Dalish language.

She then cast a small spell that sent a hot blast into the leader's face, which only angered him further. He was now bent on dealing with the mage first, turning all his attending to her, while Varhel remained crouched on the ground, a large root behind him. He pulled out an arrow, aiming it quickly at the hurlock's left hand, holding his shot until he felt sure it would strike. But as he released the arrow, the hurlock moved, and the arrow flew through air with a miss. Behind a slam of his fist upon the ground, Varhel then stood up on his feet, and followed around the hurlock, where he could see Nowyn casting cold spells upon the ground, distracting the hurlock's focus, so that he would not step to freely, instead, diverting around the traps.

With only one arrow left, Varhel did not want to miss again. But the hurlock was smart in not standing in one place for too long, nor keeping his limbs perfectly still, including his hands.

"Come on sister, freeze him." Varhel spoke out loud.

Finally, Nowyn appeared out from behind a tree, directly in front of the hurlock leader, placing an ice spell upon the ground, where the leader happened to place his very next step, completely freezing one foot. With a groan of frustration, the hurlock gripped his greataxe tighter, giving Varhel a chance to strike. An arrow was placed upon the string of his bow, then released through the air, whipping a perfect strike into the hurlock's left hand, causing him to release his grip. It was also then that Nowyn prepared for one mighty blast of fire, that would no doubt cook the hurlock to his core, and thus, the battle would be won. However, as she waved her staff, the hurlock pulled his leg from out the ice, and kicked Nowyn with his other foot, sending her flying backward over a root and large mossy boulder.

"Nowyn!" Shouted Varhel with concern.

With no arrows left, Varhel could not attack the hurlock, unless he picked up a darkspawn blade, which escaped his mind, or used a small dagger at his waist-side. Instead, it was as though he became frozen himself, in awe at what transpired, seeing that his sister's staff was no where near her. The hurlock leader picked it up, and broke it over his thigh. He then took two slow, but large steps forward, standing over Nowyn, who only then began regaining her consciousness, wondering where her staff was, no where to be found in her hand or near her side. Her eyes began to widen, when she peered upward, and saw the hurlock leader raising his greataxe in the air, all with the strength of his one good hand, ready to bring it down upon her to the death.

"No!" A voice cried out, heard by Nowyn, and the hurlock himself.

In the blink of an eye, Nowyn could feel the sensation of heat, and redness encircling the hurlock above her. Suddenly, when the hurlock became fully engulfed in flames, she knew that her brother had come to her defence. It was the same result for the human hunter who attacked the clan only the day before, where Varhel's magic was released, in self-defense.

The hurlock screamed, pain of burning flesh ripped through his heart and soul, tainted as they were, as he quickly dropped his greataxe, and charred until crispy and black. All of the darkspawn scouts, including their leader, were now defeated.

Within seconds, Varhel released what he had done. Staring down at his hands, he watched as flames returned into his palms, then quickly disappeared. He was shocked, unaware that he was casting such a powerful spell. How he did it? He did not know.

Before Varhel could regain his train of thought, Nowyn had risen to her feet again. She approached her brother, placing a hand upon his shoulder. He flinched from being startled, worried perhaps, but when gazing within his sister's eyes, he calmed himself from breathing heavily.

"Are you, alright?" Nowyn asked.

Taking a moment, Varhel wondered about his answer, but it was a definite, "yes."

"Thank you. You saved us." Said Nowyn, now without her staff.

Gathering all thoughts, as well as the ability to walk freely on his own, Varhel and Nowyn inspected the battle grounds within the Brecilian Passage. They had fought a brave fight, and turned up victorious, putting a stop to the darkspawn scouts from completing their quest; whatever their quest may have been.

Following a few moments of rest, Nowyn thought about the clan, and that of her father. She knew that they must be warned, her father must be inform about the appearances of these darkspawn scouts. She knew that Keeper Tahon needed be inform at once. Of this, Varhel also imagined, waiting for his sister to speak about leaving.

"We are safe now, brother," she began, "from here you must continue on your own way. I do ever wish to remain by your side for the full day, but father must be warned about what has happened. I cannot say why we encountered darkspawn, but it is too important not to return right away to the clan."

Without hesitating, Varhel gave his response. "I understand sister," he said. "You should go, and travel with great haste. I will find mother's cabin, and send word once I have arrived."

With that, Varhel and Nowyn embraced with a hug, knowing that they were not going to see each other for a very long time, possibly, ever again.

"You have been a wonderful sister, Nowyn."

"And you a wonderful brother. Be safe, and on your guard. Do not fear your talents Varhel, they clearly mean you well, and will save your life if the moment calls for it."

After a brief farewell, Varhel watched as his sister disappeared behind many great trees. The forest seemed to swallow her whole. He was now alone, alone for the remainder of his journey to his mother's cabin, somewhere up the Brecialian Passage.

Another few hours seemed to fly by, as evening quickly descended upon the old forest. There was a constant buzzing all around, as slumbering spirits appeared to awaken, calling out to whomever would answer them. However, Varhel was not one to speak back, knowing better to meddle with the minds of wandering spirits, lost souls, belonging to the history of the forest itself.

For the night, Varhel laid out his elven bedroll, while greatly desiring the warmth of a fire. Of course, as a highly leveled hunter and survivor, he knew how to make a fire with sticks and stones. Although, he now wondered if his magical abilities could also aid his cause. Sitting cross-legged in front of a pile of sticks and one large log, Varhel put out his hands, palms away, toward the pile. He focused, long and hard on casting a flame to ignite a fire for the night. But nothing happened. He tried twice, three, four more times, but nothing happened, not even a spark, nor smoke.

"How in the world does father and Nowyn do this? And how in the world did I fry that darkspawn earlier?" Farhel asked himself out loud.

Unsure what else he could do, Varhel then resorted to rubbing sticks together to spark a flame. At least he had fire, and would remain warm throughout the long night.

By dawn, the spirits and souls of times passed eased their calling voices. Rains from the sky poured down across most of southern Thedas, including overhead of the Brecilian Forest, sending weeping drops of water down within, but never was there a great downpour of rain, for the trees were too thick and acted as a shield.

Following breakfast, Varhel continued making his way northward up the Brecilian Passage, nearly a full days walk from the southern reaches of the Southron Hills, northwest of the Korcari Wilds, where his father's labelled map lead to his mother's cabin.

It was a day of occupying one's mind, while maintaining hope that soon, Varhel would see his mother's cabin, far off in the distance somewhere. This day, leading into the later afternoon hours, just as the sun managed to break through the grey clouds, nothing but hills upon hills came into view. Varhel was now out of the Brecilian Forest, exiting through the passage, but was unsure exactly of where he stood. Inspecting the map, he found that his father had drawn the cabin to be just on the inside of the passage, where Varhel already passed, over two hours ago. Yet, there was not a sign of a cabin, not anywhere, not even belonging to shemlin farmer.

"Where the Dread Wolf am I?" Varhel asked aloud to himself.

Just then, a distant disturbance interrupted the quiet wind and gentle drops of rain from remaining clouds. There also came a rumble in the ground, almost like a vibration of sorts. Varhel stood motionless, feeling the rumbling under his feet, somewhere either far away, or far deep under the earth. Peering away to the north, Varhel could finally see a black shape making its way to the east, rather quickly, with great speed. It appeared like a cloud on the wind at first glance, but was nothing of the sort. Unknown to his own eyes, the dark cloud was a large group of darkspawn, fleeing to the east, wishing to return back into the forest. When Varhel realized what he was witnessing, he wondered what they were doing, but as long as they were not heading in his direction, he held his ground, and waited for the black cloud of darkspawn to disappear over, then under a large green hill, where they eventually poured into the Brecilian Forest.

With no other choice but to carry on with his journey, Varhel took a drink of water from an elven flask, before walking north again. He carried no weapons on him, besides an empty quiver, his longbow, and his small elven dagger, kept at his waist.

Hiking for under fifteen minutes, Varhel finally climbed over a hill, coming to a sudden stop at the top. He looked far out, and saw thick billowing smoke, rising from a distance. Possibly another seven-hundred yards away, the dark smoke covered a structure, one that Varhel himself could not make out. Nonetheless, he wondered about the smoke, then recalled the swarm of darkspawn fleeing toward the forest. He put two and two together, and imagined that they were somehow connected. Wasting no more time, Varhel finally took off with a jog, making his way toward the billowing smoke, where with each step, he could slowly make out the structure shadowed by black smoke.

Upon reaching the billing smoke, Varhel had already noticed that within it, was a cabin. First guessing this was a cabin, brought Varhel into a sprint, thinking to himself, that could very well be his mother's own shelter, which stirred great fear in his heart.

"Mother! Mother!" Varhel shouted out. "Oraya! Oraya!" He also called; Oraya being his mother's Dalish name.

No reply came, as Varhel entered the smoky cabin. Inside, he found nothing but a mess of furniture, and papers blowing around in a heap. At one end of the cabin, he noticed a bed, large enough for only one body. Whether for a human or an elf, it disturbed his mind further.

"Mother, it is I, Varhel!"

Still, no reply came. The flames upon the interior of the shelter became sweltering, causing the roof to nearly cave in. Varhel knew he must exit, and escape with his life. Fleeing outside, coughing form the thick smoke, Varhel watched, as a yellow bird, offley familiar to his eyes, such as the birds within the Brecilian Forest, came passing over his head. The bird went directly into the smoke, somewhere on through to the other side of the cabin, where Varhel thought to go next.

Walking along to the opposite side, is when Varhel finally caught a glimpse of all hopes fading. There was a single tree, that of Ironbark, old and curved, set ablaze by the darkspawn. Hanging by a rope in that very tree, along the lowest branch, was a swaying body. The body of a slender woman, not of human, but of elvish origin.

"It cannot be." Varhel cried out loud.

It was Oraya, hung to death by the blighted darkspawn. Unaware of all other things, both present and past, Varhel approached his mother, gently swaying in the gentle, early evening breeze. Her eyes were closed, long golden hair hanging over her shoulder, also blowing in the breeze. Varhel stopped underneath his mother's body, reaching at her feet, and touching her leg. She was still rather warm, thanks to the heat of the flames. A single tear streamed down Varhel's cheek, as he wondered how this could have possibly happened.

The passing of a moment, a moment that Varhel imagined he would never forget, a glimpse up on a branch changed all things. Sitting there, was the yellow bird, whistling a tune of sorrow. She immediately hopped down from the branch, closer to Varhel's reach. He did just so, accepting the bird into his left hand. He could see attached to the bird's foot, was a clamped, rolled up piece of paper, and he knew in his heart that Keeper Tahon, his father, must of sent a message, sometime earlier in the day. It was meant for Oraya, but was too late for her to retrieve. Instead, Varhel unrolled the note, simply written, reading,

_Oraya, the darkspawn have overrun the clan._

_ Take our son, the lone survivor of our family, _

_ and flee to the shemlin tower of magi, near _

_Lake Calenhad. Prepare there for the coming_

_of the fifth blight._

_ Keeper Tahon_

Falling to his knees, Varhel could not ignore the sights within his imagination of both his father and sister, being slain by the darkspawn, which of whom Tahon mentioned had overrun their clan. What now should he do? Where now should he go? Were questions well upon Varhel's saddened mind. He could see his mother, hanging dead in the Ironbark tree, as well as the images of the entire clan slain by the darkspawn, piled in a mound of burning ash, including his father, Keeper Tahon, and sister, Nowyn.

"This, is a cursed day." Varhel said out loud, tears uncontrollably streaming down his face.

The soft singing from the yellow bird suddenly interrupted Varhel's sorrow, catching his attention. He still held the note in one hand, letting it blow away when a stronger wind picked up. There was no other place to go, nor hide. If a blight was surely coming, he now felt the desire to lend his aid. Deep within himself, was a potential of magic powers, although, kept contained. Varhel needed to learn how to release these powers, and take control of his abilities. The only place where he imagined learning how, was a shemlin circle of magi, a place where mages are schooled under the watchfulness of the Chantry, and their Knights Templar Order.

"I will avenge your deaths," said Varhel. "I will fight in this war, that the darkspawn wage upon us. I will do my part to save this world."

Under his own strength, although, weakened with sorrow, Varhel stood up. He looked upon his mother one last time, as a final gleam from the setting sun sliced through the clouds, sending a shining aura upon Oraya. It was as though a sign pointed Varhel in the direction he needed to travel, in order to find the Circle of Magi, far to the north, near Lake Calenhad. That is where he would now set off to, beginning an all new journey; one for a another story, however.

To Be Continued...


End file.
